


Delirious

by Exorin, Ponderosa (ponderosa121)



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: (wherein 'underage' means 17), Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Episode: s02e03 Alma Mater, M/M, Oral Sex, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29025126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exorin/pseuds/Exorin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderosa121/pseuds/Ponderosa
Summary: “Malcolm?” the voice says, as he’s hauled to his feet, and that’s not Gil’s voice but it’s a man--older and familiar, soft and friendly. Not his father, not Gil.Or, Malcolm is freed from the closet by a nice older man who just wants to take care of him.
Relationships: Alan Delaney/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 13
Kudos: 23





	Delirious

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes an episode hits you like a brick to the face and you just need to write something in a dazed rush at 1am. Thank you (as always) to the amazing Pond who edited AND ADDED so much to this fic. 
> 
> As a reminder:  
>  **This is dubcon due to Malcolm's emotional state/inability to make rational decisions. Additionally, he is 17 when this takes place (underage in various places).**

When the door to the storage closet opens three days later, Malcolm crawls out on shaky knees--his hands tremble and his body feels weak and he just needs to be near someone. 

He can barely look higher than his rescuer’s thighs, the lights from the hallway _\--too bright, how are they so bright?--_ hurt his eyes. His grasping hands find the smooth leather of a pair of oxfords, then ankles as he pulls himself up. 

There’s a hand on his shoulder and one fisting into his sweat-damp shirt, clenched up in the fabric at the back of his neck and he thinks Gil. 

It’s _grounding._

“Malcolm?” the voice says, as he’s hauled to his feet, and that’s not Gil’s voice but it’s a man--older and familiar, soft and friendly. Not his father, not Gil.

_Safe?_ he silently asks himself. The same question he’s been asking since the shadows in the space turned to pitch and crawled around him, swarming and sinister. He looks up blearily, eyes adjusting and yet still not seeing, his hands grabbing onto anything he can, touch-starved and desperate. This is real. He’s real.

“Hey, are you okay? Malcolm?” 

Malcolm’s hands fist into the fabric of the man’s shirt and he shudders, shivering as an arm wraps around his waist. The world tips sideways as he’s gathered close. Low words in a warm, even tone wash over him, the man’s, “Let’s get you somewhere safe, yeah?” guiding him into motion.

He blacks in and out of consciousness, the shadows seeking to pull him back into that tiny room. They peel away, fading back and giving him a moments clarity when a cool glass presses against his lower lip. Tilted carefully to spill into his mouth, the water burns its way down his parched throat. He sputters, arms rising weakly to try and beg for more. 

“Easy,” the soft voice says. More words pass to him between small sips, “You’ll choke if you drink too fast,” and “There, that’s it,” soothing both the lingering terror and the rawness of his throat. There’d been moments in the dark that felt like this, he thinks, staring sightlessly at his fingers where they hang limp in his lap, where kind words whispered in his ear only to turn cruel.

A hand cups against his cheek, thumb brushing along his jaw and drawing him away from the dark again _\--no longer alone, something real, something safe--_ and it’s oh so _easy_ to turn against that warmth and nuzzle his face against that lightly callused palm. 

“Careful,” comes the voice again, but it’s lower now and just a little breathless. 

Malcolm blinks. Somewhere deep beneath the muddied swirl of his mind, in the place where orderly thoughts click into place, recognition builds. He’s the reason for that slight hesitation, that whisper of need. He needs things too.

He presses his cheek a little harder against the hand so tenderly holding him and his lips part to mouth up against the heel, his tongue dipping out to taste the slight tang of chemicals on skin--his brain catches up before his body and a soft needy sound slips out at the realization. 

“Oh. _Delaney,_ ” Malcolm says, mouthing down along the skin to graze the older man’s bare wrist. He follows the pulse line up until Delaney’s hand is almost in his hair; his lips brushing near the curve of the other man’s arm. 

“Malcolm, hey, slow down.” 

Malcolm mouths the word please against Delaney’s skin, his shaking hands reaching up to curl under the waistband on Delaney’s trousers, _“Please.”_ he says again, swallowing down the little bit of saliva that coats his otherwise dry mouth. He was alone for so long, days that felt like years.

He feels rather than hears Delaney tremble out a breath and he shifts back far enough to glance up at the older man from underneath his disheveled hair. A shudder wracks him, brows twisting as his throat closes. He forces out the words, the shattered-glass whisper of, “I need—” exploding past chapped lips.

“Okay, okay Malcolm. Whatever you need.” 

Delaney’s hand settles on the back of his neck again and Malcolm arches into it like a cat. “I’ve got you. Do you need a bit more water?” Delaney asks, but Malcolm shakes his head. He’s thirsty not dangerously dehydrated, even if he’d had to lick water condensing on a patch of wall and suck on still-damp mop strings to stave it off. Small sips, spread out over time will solve that, but the hollow ache living in his bones and the ugly quivering fear... His eyes go unfocused and he nuzzles his face where Delaney’s cuff is rolled back. He needs to feel safe. Safe and wanted, and he doesn’t need to think beyond touch and taste and his desperate need for this. A quiet moan hisses out of him.

Malcolm can’t make his fingers work. 

He thumbs at the fastenings on Delaney’s pants, making soft and helpless sounds when he can’t work the button through the opening. He clenches his hand, frustrated at his own body and how weak it is. All he needs is to feel good, and Delaney’s always been kind to him. Kind and patient like Gil, if always slightly on guard in a way he’s never understood until now.

Malcolm _whines_ and leans forward, his open mouth working over the fabric of Delaney’s pants --he tongues at the hard outline of hot, wanting cock, precious spit left to stain Delaney’s pants until the hand on the back of his neck clenches and he’s pulled back. 

An icy stab of worry strikes him at center mass, but the professor isn’t stopping him. Clever fingers deftly open the button in front of Malcolm’s face, Delaney’s thumb pushing down his zipper before reaching out to swipe along Malcolm’s lower lip.

“Who would have thought…” he murmurs and Malcolm hears the sharp inhale when he takes Delaney’s thumb into the heat of his mouth and _sucks._

Delaney uses his free hand to tug his pants open and pull his briefs down until they’re pulled tight under his heavy balls. His thick, wet-headed cock springing free to rise, hard and ready in front of Malcolm’s face. 

“This is what you need?” 

Malcolm _whimpers,_ a trickle of wetness gathering beneath his tongue as his mouth tightens around Delaney’s thumb --he chases that digit when Delaney pulls his hand away to wrap it, instead, around the heavy base of his cock, lining himself up with Malcolm’s already opened mouth. 

He can feel his whole body shaking when Delaney tilts his hips forward and pushes his cockhead between the easy part of Malcolm’s lips. His tongue presses flat up against the underside, letting the heavy throb of Delaney’s cock beat down against it. Sucking as gratefully at the salty beads of precome as he had the glass put to his lips.

He moans around the stretch as his Professor sinks further in. 

Malcolm keeps his jaw loose and open, takes that thick length of cock until his nose is pressed up against skin, until he can feel the tickle of coarse, curled pubic hair against his upper lip. Closing his eyes now doesn’t bring a rise of panic or make everything feel smaller, it sharpens all the details and sensations he wants to feel. He swallows around the head, moaning _desperately._

Delaney’s hand in the back of his shirt clenches, his free hand cradling the back of Malcolm’s head as Malcolm pulls back, moving all the way down along the cock in his mouth; he leans back far enough to mouth at the head, letting his tongue press up against the leaking-wet slit in the tip. 

Delaney curses, hunches over until he’s bent over Malcolm.

His hands end up on Delaney’s hips, fingertips digging in, desperate to hold on as Delaney gives in and works his cock into the easy, open heat of Malcolm’s mouth. It could be better, maybe, if his mouth were flooded wet and dripping, not the clinging friction as his body struggles to summon up enough moisture, his cracked lips stinging and catching at the slide of hot skin. But the feel of the man’s cock in his mouth is still perfect, the weight of it better somehow than any sloppy blowjob he’s given to someone he doesn’t know the name of or that he’ll never see again.

Malcolm hums a moan around it, feels like he’s swimming and not ready to come up for air --he lets Delaney take his mouth, over and over with no room to breathe until he’s lightheaded and almost delirious.

The only thing that keeps him grounded is the hand on the back of his neck. Those strong, sturdy fingers clasp at his nape, squeezing gently in silent praise when his mouth must feel particularly good.

Delaney shoves forward once more, and the tension under Malcolm’s hands tells him what to expect. He opens his eyes again, looks up at his professor as the man’s cock throbs and spills and soaks Malcolm’s throat and Malcolm pushes back from him, gasping. He swallows, but it isn’t right. Something’s still wrong. There should be satiated bliss or smug contentment on Delaney’s face, not— 

“Fuck. Hey, _hey,”_ Delaney is saying, his face phasing in and out of focus, “Malcolm, c’mon now.” 

There’s pressure at his mouth again and he opens blindly, the cool water sending a jolt through his system. “Prof— Professor?” he croaks, confused. 

“Yeah, I’m here,” the man says before there’s a thumb sliding along his lower lip, “I’ve got you Malcolm.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at [ex0rin](http://ex0rin.tumblr.com)


End file.
